


Eau du Chat Noir

by elmundomyfriend



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Never Went to Public School, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slight Role Reversal, Slow Burn, and adrien falls in love w marinette, and gabriel isn't super evil, like here ladybug is in love w chat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmundomyfriend/pseuds/elmundomyfriend
Summary: Fresh out of college and barely holding on to her job, Marinette is just trying to make ends meet. The only thing getting her through it all is her anonymous mentor, Chat Noir, and her secret love for him. When her job is put on the line, she’s put under more pressure than ever. Will she be able to wrangle haughty model Adrien Agreste into working with her? Will she be able to keep her job? And, with the past three years of anonymity coming to a head, will she ever tell Chat Noir how she feels?





	1. In Which Marinette is Late

Marinette was late- again. She couldn’t afford to be late again. Splashing through puddles, legs pumping and water spraying, she dashed along the street with her heart in her mouth. This job meant the world to her. It meant the world to her career. Fresh out of college, she was lucky to even have it. And yet, she couldn’t seem to make it on time. Ever.

Skidding around a corner, she continued to run, pushing through a crowd of irritated, black-coated people cursing her out. The pavement, slick with rainwater, provided little traction, and her stiletto heels were hardly helping her to maintain her pace. Damn it, damn it, damn it, she knew she should have worn sneakers. But it was still her first month, and she was still working in fashion, and was it really so foolish to want to make a good impression? Who knew who was watching, anyhow?

If someone had been watching Marinette run out of the Metro station and towards her workplace, they would have criticised the stilettos, too. Each toe she trod on earned her a string of curses, and each step made her teeter precariously. Morning commuters feared for their toes and her ankles, both of which were in significant danger. In her bright red coat, darting through the crowd, she was a visible hazard. Her hair, coming loose from the professional, low bun she had swept it into, streamed behind her and plastered itself to her glossed lips. Sweat beaded her forehead and made her mascara smudge under her eyes. She had yet to notice. 

The building just in sight, Marinette spared a glance at her watch. It was small, silver and weatherbeaten. Left to her by her grandmother, and perpetually slow. Oh, damn it all, nine o’clock already- that meant it was at least a quarter past nine. Her boss would start making the rounds any moment now. And she just might make it, if she ran fast enough. Just a few more metres and- _thud._

Marinette collided with a broad-shouldered man in a Burberry coat at full speed, knocking him into a particularly grimy puddle and landing on top of him, the air knocked swiftly out of her lungs. Her cheek brushed against the man’s, stubble meeting soft skin, and she hastily propped herself up on her arms, her hands flat on the pavement on either side of his chest, her eyes seeking out his face. And, oh my, he was handsome. Even lying dazed in a puddle, blinking water out of his eyes, he was handsome. He checked all of Marinette’s boxes, actually- he was tall, with strong eyebrows, a sharp jawline and full lips. Looking closely, she could even make out a smatter of freckles across his Grecian nose. The blue morning light highlighted the sharp planes of his face, rendering him almost luminous as his lips tilted down in displeasure, his nose scrunching, drawing his freckles together. Even scowling, he was a visual delight. It was a shame, really. In better circumstances, Marinette would have quite enjoyed looking at him, but not today. Not now, with bare seconds before her boss discovered her absence.It was hardly the time to count his freckles. Scrambling to her feet, catching her breath, she blurted out a hasty apology. “I’m so sorry! Are you… Are you okay?” He stared at her blankly, so she shut up and helped him up. He rose to his full height, regarding his sopping coat with irritation before turning unforgiving green eyes on Marinette. 

“Imbecile,” he hissed. With one last withering stare, he turned and walked away, shaking water out of his blonde hair.

Marinette, with one last worried glance behind her, sprinted towards her workplace, desperately aware of each passing second.

***

“You’re late.” Jeanne Mendeleiv was stern on the best of days, and downright terrifying on the worst. Today was somewhat in-between, and though she regarded Marinette’s damp, breathless presence with pity there was steel in her eyes. Cold, biting steel.

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” Marinette panted, skidding to a stop at her desk. “My apartment flooded last night, and I-”

“Marinette, you’re late for the seventh time in a row,” said Jeanne firmly. “The seventh time in a row, and the eighteenth time in total. You’ve only worked here for a month. _I’m_ sorry.”

Casting her eyes wildly about her, still struggling to catch her breath, Marinette saw the apologetic faces of her colleagues. There was Amandine, who had helped her use the coffee machine last week. Claude, who was teaching her to speak English. Violetta, who took her to the nicest restaurant for lunch. They were all looking steadily away, pretending to be busy. Giving her space, privacy. “Oh.”

“Come with me.” Jeanne turned and walked towards her office. Marinette had only been in there once- the day she had been hired. The best day ever. She had loved it then, the muted, professional beige of the walls, the tasteful teal accents. The little inspirational quotes on the wall had delighted her. Today they mocked her. The one closest to her said ‘You can do it!’ written in calligraphy over a small, fluffy cat. Marinette looked away and took a deep breath.

“Jeanne,” she began, squaring her shoulders, “I know I’m not the most organised employee-” She was silenced by the shrill ring of a phone. Jeanne held up one finger- perfectly manicured, with a delicate golden ring- and took the call.

_“Bonjour?”_ Her face, smooth, impassive and professional, scrunched into a frown as she listened, and began to reply in English. Marinette, not understanding a word of her reply, looked down at her hands. Slim, callused hands, bearing the stains and pricks of her profession. A band-aid wrapped around her little finger where she had nicked it with a pair of scissors. A purple blotch from a mishap with fabric dye. Her mistakes, brought to life in technicolour.

Marinette’s coat was still on; she hadn’t had time to take it off. What to do now? It was hot inside the building to allow for versatility of clothing through the year, and the run had warmed Marinette up a little too much. She could feel sweat rising on her back and heat circling her neck. Should she take her coat off? No, she couldn’t. It would look like she was getting comfortable, and that would not do. She had to keep it on, then. Sweat through the pain.

She was going to be fired- she knew it now. What would she do, alone in Paris? Alone, jobless, and broke? She’d never find another job here, not after being fired. Not after being fired after a mere _month._ She’d have to swallow her pride and move back home, and, worse, she’d have to tell her parents. Icarus once again, singed by her dreams. Wonderful. A part of her would be glad to leave it all behind: the soggy, flooded apartment, the crazy hours, Jeanne’s unrealistic expectations. But a part of her would always long for her dream, and the man who had brought her to where she was.

It had been during her time at ESMOD that she had been assigned a student advisor. This was essentially a recent graduate who would give her practical, academic and career advice. The alumnus would be able to snap up promising new talent, and the student would receive invaluable advice. In Marinette’s case, she had been assigned an apparently successful recent graduate who was already established in an apparently notable role in an apparently prominent company. She hadn’t gotten his name, or his company, or even his job description. All she knew was that he was in Paris. Confidentiality. Anonymity. He didn’t know anything about her, either. It was a new, experimental program- students and advisors would be able to bond and work closely with one another, but it would prevent too much partiality in hiring. Most advisors, however, chose to circumvent it, but not Marinette’s. For whatever reason, he remained a nonsensical chat-room username for three years, and had settled for proving himself to be astonishingly useful. He had put her in touch with CEOs, gotten her internships her classmates could never have dreamt of, and given advice that had allowed her to graduate with a First, more job offers than she knew what to do with, and the respect of her teachers and peers.

And, in a series of circumstances certainly unforeseen by the faculty, Marinette had found herself thinking more and more about him. Who was he, this CHAT-NOIR _?_ What did he do? How old was he? And… Did he have a girlfriend? Slowly, their conversations moved out of the chatroom, to online gaming platforms, a shared Netflix account where they binge-watched terrible shows together, and voice calls. He became a mentor, and then a friend. He was Chat, and she, stuck with a username she had coined at the age of eleven, was LUCKY-LITTLE-LADYBUG. And Marinette, as Ladybug, fell hopelessly, pathetically in love with a voice on the phone.

Part of the reason she had taken the job in Paris was to find him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but being just that much closer to him was sure to spark something- a connection, a curiosity… He knew that she was working with Miraculous Unlimited now. He could come and find her, should he want to. She knew she wanted him to. The dream was Miraculous, and now, the dream was also him.

Dear God, how would she tell him? 

As Jeanne talked on and on, Marinette’s skin, flushed pink from running, paled to a crisp white. Chat Noir had gotten her this job, and he had been so excited for her. Excited, and proud. Letting him down would be unbearable. How would she live with herself? She could always not tell him- however. How would she be able to talk to him, inevitably tonight, without giving away her life’s greatest disappointment? She would never be able to keep it from him.  
Jeanne hung up the phone, making an irritated noise in the back of her throat before smoothening her features. “Well,” she said, forcing a bright smile, “the reason I am talking to you is because, you see…” She paused, and a frown started to build in her eyes before she quelled it and continued. “You see, we have to take on an additional project, and I would like you to head it.”

“I’m not fired?” breathed Marinette, slumping with relief. She shrugged off her coat, feeling cool air sweep through her blouse with a sigh.

“I’ll be honest, Marinette, I did call you into my office to fire you,” Jeanne said, an edge to her voice. “You are on very thin ice, and cannot afford to make any mistakes now. The only reason you are still here is because everyone else is on the Guardian project, and we really can’t afford to reduce the people on it. It’s really a very valuable contract. But make no mistake- this project is no less critical. All eyes will be on you. We have just been hired by none other than Agreste Corp.” She paused for effect. 

The desired effect was achieved- Marinette gasped, unable to believe what she had just heard. Agreste Corp? They were the biggest name in fashion, releasing everything from accessories to shoes to haute couture. Marinette- handling one of their campaigns? She had to tell Chat Noir!

“This is incredible, thank you so much!” she gushed, clasping her hands together in ecstasy. Jeanne gave a tight smile.

“Yes, well. They’re releasing a new scent, and want us to handle the advertising campaign. I know that this is hardly fashion, but we are, above all else, a marketing firm, and we are at the moment a very shorthanded marketing firm.” She moved to sit behind her desk, and tapped a few keys on her computer. “I’ll send the file your way. This is very last minute, and they will be sending their campaign manager over tomorrow. What we need from you tonight are mock-ups and a pitch.” Jeanne gave Marinette a hard look over her spectacles. “This is your last chance.”

“I won’t let you down,” enthused Marinette, balanced on the balls of her feet. At a slight inclination of Jeanne’s head, Marinette was dismissed, and surged out of the office to her desk. She only had a day to plan an entire campaign- she had a lot of work to do.

Before she could even sit down, though, Violetta ran up with tears in her eyes, Claude and Amandine close behind her. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, running her fingers through her hair. “We tried to stall her, but she was on a rampage! There was nothing that we could do! I’m so, so sorry.” 

Marinette blinked up at her, confused. Amandine rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This is terrible, Marinette,” she said mournfully, her fingers tracing comforting circles over Marinette’s airy grey blouse. “Do you need us to help you with anything? You must be sad also, no?”

Looking up at her colleagues, Marinette frowned. “What do you mean?”  
“Didn’t you just get fired?” asked Claude bluntly. He could always be trusted to be no-nonsense. He looked down at Marinette through pale lashes. “Well- _did_ you get fired?”

“What? Oh, no, thank goodness,” sighed Marinette, finally realising what the fuss was about. “She was going to, but we’ve been assigned a new project and I have to handle that. So, yeah, not yet.” She shrugged, they shrugged, and they all got back to work with a few parting words.

***

Marinette traipsed home at a reduced, subdued pace. Her hands were sore from writing and her voice was sore from shouting at the props department. She needed a mock-up, damn it, why were they all taking three hours for lunch? She was tired, angry, and dissatisfied with her work. She had forsaken the Metro, choosing the longer walk instead in an effort to clear the fog in her head.

She opted for the even longer route that took her down the Seine. Even after living in Paris for all her life, she still found magic in the warmly-lit waterway. She could even see the Eiffel Tower in the distance, but turned her back to it on the way to her cramped, waterlogged apartment. TheCity of Lights indeed. Marinette cut through the glowing yellow circles cast by the streetlights as she walked, the colours creating the illusion of heat. But it was cold- bitterly so. Through her thin stockings, she could feel the harsh bite of the oncoming winter. Damn it all, and damn Miraculous Unlimited. The pain of her pinching shoes combined with the low temperatures had cut off all feeling in her toes, and she limped steadily along, drawing closer and closer to her temporary home.

The City of Lights- yes, she could see it. Running her eyes over the fractured ripples in the river, Marinette saw shattered reflections carried down the river, undulating just below the surface. Colours blended together, breaking up the darkness of the water with pockets of light. Beautiful, yes, but as Marinette stared on and on, losing herself in the swirls and patterns, she longed for the Thames.

But enough of that. Shaking her head sharply, she turned away from the Seine and into an alleyway. It should take her to the small plaza her apartment building overlooked, she reasoned, her heels clicking on the cobblestones, the sharp sound muffled by the muted sounds of the night. The soft beeps of cars and rumble of activity drowned out another, less gentle sound that Marinette, lost in thought, did not hear: rapidly approaching footsteps. She didn’t even see the growing shadow until it enveloped her, and reached out to touch her.

“Ah!” Marinette jumped, whirling around with one hand balled in a fist and the other holding a small pink switchblade. She’d been given it a few years ago after a mugging, and had used it mostly as a craft knife. Nonetheless, it was sharpened and ready. Despite her diminutive stature, Marinette was far from defenceless.

To her surprise, however, instead of asking for her wallet, the man behind her, his arm still outstretched, was holding it in his hand. He took a few steps back, a glint of fear in his eyes, and held the wallet up with a placating gesture. “Y-you dropped this,” he stuttered, giving the wallet a slight shake. Marinette took it, lowering her knife with an apologetic smile. She didn’t put it away, though. Best to keep it out. He was still a large man, and she was still in a dark alleyway.

“Sorry,” she said, pocketing her wallet. “I’m a bit paranoid.” She took a cautious step back, and chanced a look up at the man’s face. Upon seeing it, she nearly dropped her knife. Damn it all, it was the handsome man!

Frowning, it seemed that he recognised her too. “It’s you,” he breathed, his words gradually gaining venom. He was wearing a different coat- it was bottle-green and exquisitely tailored. “You ruined my coat this morning!”

“Er, sorry?” said Marinette weakly. Yes, she had ruined his coat. But there was no way in hell she could pay for it. From the looks of it, it had been genuine Burberry, and Marinette could barely afford her rent. But still. “Really, really sorry about that. I could pay the dry cleaning bill?”

The man sniffed, looking her up and down. “You can’t simply dry clean water damage on high fashion, _crétin,”_ he said disdainfully. “And I highly doubt you can heal me.” He turned his head slightly, showcasing a vivid bruise blooming on his pale cheek. Was it wrong of Marinette to admire the way it set off the green of his eyes? Maybe, and any attraction she had felt towards him was slowly dissipating in wake of his generally unpleasant demeanour.

“I really am sorry,” said Marinette, nibbling her lip anxiously. “Is there anything that I _can_ do?”

“Avoid running into me- or, really, coming _anywhere_ near me- again,” bit out the man acidly. With a last wary look at her knife, he strode past her, disappearing out of the mouth of the alleyway. 

Marinette watched him walk away, lips twisting with irritation. “Asshole,” she grumbled, before walking home. She had work to do, and Chat Noir to call.


	2. In Which Adrien Accepts a Proposal

Adrien slammed his front door shut behind him, stalked over to his couch, and collapsed, kicking off his shoes and tossing his coat onto the coffee table. What an absolute _bitch_ of a day he’d had. He had a right mind to phone a friend and head straight to the nearest bar, muffling his troubles with a vodka tonic or eight- but no. He had an image to maintain, and an early start tomorrow. Best to stay in, then. He’d curl up with a book, and maybe a glass of wine, and order some takeout. He could even have a bubble bath. This was what his life had come to- looking forward to the next bubble bath. Eighteen-year-old Adrien would be disgusted.

It had been a long, tiring, and taxing day. Everything hurt- his cheek, his feelings- and he wanted to do nothing more than sink through the couch cushions and into the ground below. He was tired- heart-deep, bone-deep. Twenty-two and alone on a Tuesday night, with no company but the pigeons hooting on the roof. And, to top it off, it was starting to rain. The pigeons would probably leave soon, then.

Maybe he could call a girl, any girl, ask her to spend the night, take comfort between the well-worn, familiar legs of an old friend. His thoughts wandered, to Mireille, to Chloe. But no, he wanted nothing that would leave him feeling even emptier on Wednesday night. No, it was a night for a bubble bath. He might even spring for some bath salts, and lull himself to sleep with a mindless TV show. 

Lying on the couch, back flat against the pillows, Adrien slowly raised his legs into the air and stared at his socks. The knitted faces of Superman and Batman stared back at him. “Look at you, you’re pathetic,” said Adrien in a deep voice, jiggling his right foot, Batman’s blank eyes glaring at him. “No, Adrien,” he said, affecting a Midwestern drawl and jiggling his left foot. “You’re working towards your dreams. You’re doing everything right! You’ll thank yourself, soon.”

Adrien lowered his feet and sighed. “If you say so, Superman,” he muttered. He knew Batman was right. He really was pathetic. Successful, yes, but very, very pathetic. And what use was a career if you had nobody to share your successes with? Nobody to be proud of you, or to bring you down to earth? No friends, really.

No- that wasn’t quite true. He had Nino- he’d met him at work, and he had had, against all odds, stuck with him. And he had Ladybug, whoever she was. Ladybug, his mentee from ESMOD, who would call him soon. He checked his watch- imposing, heavy chrome display, a Rolex with a price tag he was blissfully unaware off. Ladybug would call in half an hour. He had time, then for a bubble bath.

***

Adrien was lying in his bathtub, listening to classical music and soaking in essential oils, when his phone rang, abruptly cutting off the second refrain of ‘The Lark Ascending.’ Ladybug, right on time. Chat Noir, not on time at all. It would be weird to pick up her call now, naked, knowing fully well that he was naked for the duration of their conversation. And yet- she wouldn’t know. She had no way of knowing. Besides, it would take him too long to dry off and get dressed. In one decisive motion, Adrien reached for the phone and picked up the call.

“Chat, you’ll never guess what happened today,” Ladybug chirped, practically forcing her excitement through the phone. “Oh, I’ll just come out with it- I’m heading up my own project!”  
Adrien sat up, making waves in the bathwater. “What? No way! That’s incredible!” he cheered, casting a guilty glance at the water sopping down on the floor. He’d just clean it up later. “You’ve only been working there for a month, Bugaboo- how did this happen?”

“Well,” began Ladybug, her voice lowering, “this is the bad part. Er, turns out that my boss was going to fire me.”

“What!” Adrien would have to have a word with the CEO of Miraculous Unlimited. He may not have ever met Ladybug, but he’d seen her work and he knew damn well that she was talented, and an incredibly hard worker. She was a _catch,_ and Miraculous was lucky to have her. “What happened?”

“It’s my own fault, really,” sighed Ladybug, her voice crackling through his phone’s speakers. “I’ve been late too often. One day it’s my apartment flooding, the next it’s the Metro running late, and I’ve even been attacked by damn stray dogs. Honestly, I get it.”

Adrien bristled at her dejected tone. “Hey! This isn’t your fault. And what’s a couple minutes, anyways? You’re new to Paris, and you work harder than anyone else at the office! Your output is just as good, if not better, than people coming in on time. They’d have to be idiots to fire you!”

Ladybug sniffled, her voice small. “You really think so?”

“I _know_ so. It’s kind of my job to know so, so you know that I know it!” 

Ladybug giggled, and the tension in Adrien’s chest let up a little. He’d known her for three years, and had grown to care for her more than a mentor should. Slowly, grudgingly, he’d given her more than advice- he’d given her his friendship. Or, really, with her humour and infectious optimism, Ladybug earned her place among his few friends. But, unlike Nino, she had no idea who he was.

He’d debated telling her, years ago, when she’d told him that all the other students knew who their mentors were. But they’d struck up an easy rapport by then, her tone holding none of the reverence so pervasive in his interactions with others. So he’d said no, and kept it fair by not even trying to find out who she was. He could’ve, quite easily- just dropped an email to his contacts at Miraculous, asked about recent hires. But that wouldn’t be fair, and as much as he liked to gripe about the harshness of life, Adrien believed in living with integrity.

He was lucky, too, that Ladybug hadn’t questioned him, and, even better, had kept talking to him even after she’d gotten her job. He knew that it was frustrating, growing so close to someone and yet maintaining so much distance. He was glad she had taken the job at Miraculous- his company owned it, and it gave him some illusion of closeness, creating a pretence of true friendship. He knew they could never move forward without him revealing his identity. But he also knew that he could not reveal his identity without forever changing their relationship. He liked Ladybug to much to taint what they had- their easy, intimate conversations, inside jokes built up after years of correspondence, and late nights competing at some game or another.

And so they settled into their comfortable friendship, keeping each other at arms length only physically. Anonymity may have hindered their relationship, but it made it grow in ways others simply could not. They could be open with one another, vulnerable with no fear of embarrassment, and no real-world repercussions. Sometimes, Adrien could almost convince himself that it was the best way for them to know each other. But sometimes, he just wanted to give her a hug.

“You’re doing okay, though, right?” Adrien asked gently. “With the apartment flooding and everything. It must be overwhelming.”

Ladybug scoffed. “It’s a mess, but it’s really not so bad,” she insisted, the bitterness of her tone belying her feelings.

“Really,” deadpanned Adrien, unconvinced. 

“Really,” said Ladybug earnestly, before letting out an exhausted groan. “Fine, fine, it’s terrible. My apartment’s a mess, my job’s on the line and it’s fucking _cold,_ inside and outside, because my damn radiator broke!” Her voice grew tighter and tighter as her monologue came to a crescendo, and, finally, reluctantly, she began to cry. The past few months had been tough for her, he knew, and one disaster after another had taken her to her breaking point.

“Shit,” hissed Adrien, unsure of what to do as he listened to her soft, helpless sobs. How could he comfort her over the phone? “Um, hey, Bugsy. It’s going to be okay,” he said, his words coming out as stilted and doubtful. He made a face and tried again- maybe a different tack would work. “Ladybug,” he said sternly, “pull yourself together!”

To his surprise, Ladybug stopped crying, instead breaking into a round of furious sniffing. She hated seeming weak- Adrien had learned that over the years. She was probably kicking herself.

“It’s okay to get overwhelmed,” Adrien added in a softer tone, leaning back. His bathwater was getting cold, and goosebumps were rising on his skin. “Truly, it is. But I need you to take one thing at a time, yeah? Right now, you need to call your landlord and get him to organise repairs on your apartment. Tomorrow, you need to make sure you get to work _early,_ and you need to do the best damn work of your life. You’re new, and your job isn’t secure. You need to make it secure. You can do it, I know you can.” He paused for breath, waiting for affirmation. Had he been too harsh?

“Okay,” said Ladybug.

“Um, okay?” Adrien had expected some resistance, or irritation, or even amusement, but not today. Ladybug seemed subdued. “Is anything else wrong?”

“No, don’t worry,” said Ladybug, affecting good cheer. “Anyways, what’s up with you?”

Adrien embraced the change in topic, settling back into his bath and stretching his legs in front of him. Hm- he would need to add more bubbles next time. “Well, today was a fairly average day,” he said. It was not, but he didn’t see much of a point in burdening her with his troubles just then. “I did go on a date this morning, though-”

“With Mireille?” broke in Ladybug. The change in Ladybug’s voice was heartening as she audibly perked up. Adrien started dating Mireille about a month ago, and had eagerly fed back details to Ladybug after each date, seeking advice and feedback. They’d both thought he had a real future with Mireille. He’d truly thought she was the one.

“Yeah, with Mireille,” said Adrien bitterly, “but it was a bit of a disaster.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well,” drawled Adrien, casting his mind back to the torturous hour, “let’s just say I am _terrible_ at choosing cafés.” And he began to recount his fourth date with Mireille in excruciating detail.

It had been a quirky, early-morning coffee date, because Mireille was a quirky, early-morning type of girl. When he had first met her, she had been wearing embroidered overalls and painting a mural, and he had thought she was more beautiful than the abstract meadow on the wall beside her. Mireille could have been perfect. She might have been perfect, had Adrien not chosen the one café in France that Mireille’s ex, the proverbial one that got away, had also chosen to frequent that morning. The ensuing shouting match shook the city, and the touching reunion shook Adrien. Already in a foul mood, he had left before he said anything regrettable.

Ladybug gave a low whistle. “Damn, that blows,” she commented.

“Sure does,” agreed Adrien ruefully. “How was I supposed to know she’d never stopped loving him? Fucking Kurt. Came all the way over from Australia for one fucking day. What are the odds?”

“Terribly low. Maybe they were just-”

“Oh, _please_ don’t say meant to be,” complained Adrien, splashing the water angrily. Yes, maybe he was more disappointed then he had let on. Give it a night and he’d get over it, but having his budding relationship snatched out from under his nose grated on him. 

“Sorry- hey, what was that noise? Is your place flooding, too?”

“What? Oh, that.” Adrien clambered out of the bath hastily, trying not to spill too much water over the edge. “I, um, think my sink’s overflowing. I left it running to fill up. Gotta go!”

“Er, okay-” Ladybug was cut off as Adrien hung up, hurrying to wrap a towel around himself. That was one conversation he was eager to avoid. There were some things he could discuss with Ladybug, and some things he could not.

But enough of that. Adrien dried himself off quickly and slipped into a pair of flannel pyjamas. He was bound to have a long day tomorrow, and it was imperative to get some sleep.

***

Adrien woke up early and decided to get some yoga in before he headed to his meeting. Lord knew he needed the relaxation. Standing on the roof of his townhouse, casting his eyes over the Seine, he stretched leisurely, feeling a rush of cold air tense up his muscles and raise goosebumps along his bare torso. He shivered, berated himself, and, after no more than one downwards dog stretch, he hurried back indoors feeling no more relaxed than before, with the additional drawback of being cold as well.

He got dressed quickly, putting on clothes that would be easy to remove- a loose blue sweater, a fitted pair of flannel pants and slip-on loafers. Not bothering with anything else- all his grooming would only be destroyed later on- he grabbed his coat and left, stepping out into the October chill.

He reached the meeting with time to spare, and slipped into a rolling chair, surveying the unfamiliar office dispassionately. The meeting room was nice, yes- on the top floor of the building, with floor-to-ceiling windows, it offered a beautiful view of the city as it woke up, still dawn-dark and dotted with lights. The room itself was decorated sparsely, with a shiny marble table in the centre surrounding by white leather chairs. A projector screen was flat against one of the walls, lit up with the elegant logo of Miraculous Unlimited. 

His manager, Nathalie, reached shortly after him, the slender woman winded from the short walk from the elevator. She had a heart condition, and refused to take it easy. Sitting lightly in the chair next to Adrien, she handed him a binder. “This is their brief,” she said by way of a greeting. Adrien smiled, took the binder, and began to read.

It was an interesting concept, really, and one he had not expected. But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Yes, this would be perfect for the perfume. He just hoped they would be able to bring it to life.

He was so absorbed in his reading that he did not notice the door opening and the Miraculous representatives filing in until they took their seats. He looked up, flashing a polite smile. Yes, that was Jeanne Mendeleiv, terrifying as ever with her spiky hair and piercing eyes. There was the art director, Nathanael, twitchy and nervous in his ratty cardigan, running his hands through his tomato-red hair. And there, standing at the head of the table, clutching her binder with trembling hands, was a rather breathtaking girl with an oddly familiar face.

So this was the head of the campaign, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was short, slender, the creamy expanse of her neck and shoulders revealed by a blush-pink blouse. Fantastic legs, slender and sculpted, tantalisingly covered by tight jeans, and when she turned to plug her laptop into the projector, he had to catch his breath. She turned back, bending over to use her laptop, and her dark bangs, escaping from a loose braid, fell forward, the wavy strands swaying gently and hiding her eyes from view. But her lips- full, glossy and pink, parted slightly, had Adrien leaning forward, his own mouth hanging open a little. He couldn’t see enough of her face to know if she was beautiful, but, _damn,_ she was certainly sexy.

But something about her was familiar, from the way she held herself to the way her lips pursed as she straightened, brushing her bangs from her forehead. Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, and then she began to speak.

“Er, hello, my name is Marinette and I’m heading up the perfume campaign today,” she said, her voice hauntingly familiar. And as she cast her blue eyes around the room, looking at Adrien with an indecipherable expression, he realised- it was the girl who had ruined his favourite coat!

She cleared her throat, breaking eye contact. “If you’ll take a look at the slides, this is my vision for the campaign.” She clicked to the start of the presentation, showcasing a sketch of a slender man rising from the sea, covering his crotch with one hand and clutching a bottle of perfume to his chest with the other. “As the face of the perfume is Adrien Agreste,” she said, indicating Adrien with a wave of her hand, “and even though he is most commonly associated with Agreste Corp and his father, I thought it would be interesting to draw on his mother’s modelling career.” She pulled up a side-by-side comparison of Adrien’s mother’s most famous photo- her recreation of the Birth of Venus. Adrien felt a pang as he took in the familiar features of his mother’s face, studiously keeping his eyes above her shoulders and half-heartedly listening to Marinette.

“I propose that we use ‘The Birth of Venus’ for the principal image, especially as the perfume is to be called, er, ‘Immortal Love.’” A hint of well-controlled scorn crept into her voice upon saying the name of the perfume, and Adrien almost retreated into his chair with shame. It hadn’t been his idea, or even partially his choice, but his design career was always secondary to his modelling career, and his fanbase was really quite young. ‘Immortal Love’ would certainly appeal to them.

Tuning back in to the presentation, Adrien listened to Marinette conclude her pitch. “So we maintain sex appeal in order to appeal to the younger audience, but we also retain sophistication and class. This will also elevate Mr- er, Monsieur Agreste’s public image, maturing him while still retaining his fanbase. Furthermore, the combination of classicism and eroticism will widen the audience, making it appropriate for an older demographic. The classical subtext will also more firmly associate Monsieur Agreste with Agreste Corp, and perhaps introduce a new generation of buyers. Thank you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Adrien could see Jeanne cracking a small, rare smile of approval. Beside him, Nathalie sat up straighter, her hands clasped together. So she approved, too. Well, then, Adrien could hardly stand in the way. And he could hardly deny that the very pretty Marinette Dupain-Cheng had come up with a fantastic concept. He cleared his throat as Marinette took a seat.

“Thank you for that, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. I think that this is exactly what we need to move forward with both my public image as well as the company’s. We accept your proposal,” he said, pulling the paperwork towards him and signing with a flourish. “Given that no costume is required, am I right in assuming that principal photography starts today?”

Marinette nodded, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Yes, we’ve prepared a test set and props to take a few test shots.”

Adrien smiled. “Well, we can leave the paperwork to the higher-ups then, can’t we?”

Marinette cast an anxious, questioning glance at Jeanne, who sighed. “Yes, I suppose you can. Marinette, take Monsieur Agreste to hair and makeup, please. You can start photography after that.”

“Okay,” said Marinette, rising. She cast a grateful look around the room, and thanked everyone for attending before motioning for Adrien to stand as well. Together, they left the room.

***

The elevator ride was silent and uncomfortable. After shepherding Adrien in and pressing the button, Marinette averted her eyes and studied the pattern on the wall of the elevator. This gave Adrien an opportunity to take a closer look at her.

While he had first evaluated her with the objective, assessing eye of a model, he now considered her as a peer. She had an honest, expressive face that was tensed with discomfort, and she held her body stiffly, with her hips angled away from him. That was easy enough to explain- she was uncomfortable with his presence. Adrien resolved to make light conversation to put her at ease.

“So,” he began, pasting on a friendly smile, “coat girl.”

Marinette shrank into the corner and nodded, her earlier confidence all but melted away. “I’m really sorry about that,” she said softly. “That, and the bit with the knife,” she added, as an afterthought.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Adrien with an attempt at being reassuring. “Nothing like being held at knifepoint to keep you on your toes.” 

Marinette snorted, the arch of her back losing some of its stiffness. “You snuck up on me in a dark alley. Really, what was I supposed to think?”

Adrien suddenly realised what she had thought. “Oh, _mon dieu,_ I hadn’t even thought about that. _I’m_ sorry.” And he truly was. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she could have feared for more than her cash. 

Marinette, finally looking him in the eye, stretched her mouth into a tight little smile. “No harm done, so long as you forgive me for the coat thing. I see your cheek is healing up.”

“Not at all, actually,” laughed Adrien, raising his hand to wipe the concealer off his cheek. “Hopefully the make-up artist can do a better job than me.”

“Oh, I’m certain,” said Marinette dryly. The elevator doors opened smoothly, and she lead him out into a plush corridor, carpeted richly, oil paintings hanging on the walls. “This is the production floor,” she explained, waving a slim hand. “We’ve got our recording studio, film studio, costume department and green screen here. And, of course, the make-up department.” At that, they walked through a door and into a large, airy room, with three walls made up of nothing but mirrors and one a floor-to-ceiling window. 

A tall, slender woman with a purple buzzcut pulled at one of the walls, and the mirror swung back, revealing a cabinet full of make-up. She selected a small basket and turned around, her face impassive. “Monsieur Agreste, could you take a seat, please?” she gestured at a padded stool. “This is going to take a while, I’m afraid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk what u guys think!


	3. In Which Marinette Lets Out Her Frustrations

What a piece of work, thought Marinette as she watched Adrien attempt to flirt with the make-up artist, Juleka. Playing nice, taunting her with the coat incident- who did he think he was? And he couldn’t be completely clueless, could he? Lord knew he ranked miles above her; all he had to do was let something, anything slip and Marinette’s career was as good as gone. As if her job wasn’t on the line, anyways.

She kicked herself for not recognising him earlier. Of _course_ the man she’d threatened with a _knife_ was none other than Adrien Agreste, the biggest name in fashion. She knew who she was- how could she not? His father only headed the most influential brand in the history of fashion, and he himself was the most recognisable young designer in the history of- well, ever. Surreptitiously studying his face as she leaned against the wall, she recognised the swoop of his nose and the tilt of his lips from the teen magazines she’d frequented as a child, back when he was the most prominent young model in Europe. Worse, she remembered the embarrassing childhood crush she’d nursed for most of her formative years, the posters and stickers and little magazine cut-outs she’d hoarded for a good three years. That phase had ended when, at sixteen, Agreste Corp had rejected her application for a summer internship and given it instead to her biggest rival, Lila Rossi, and her fabricated CV. Marinette had cried for a day, thrown away her posters, and worked even harder.

Without the distinctive mop of hair that was so in vogue during the early part of the decade, though, Adrien hardly resembled the chubby-cheeked teen heartthrob that Marinette remembered. It wasn’t so reprehensible of her, then, to have not recognised him yesterday. She vaguely remembered the magazine headlines- he’d shorn his hair off as he entered adulthood, abandoning his childhood for his blossoming career in design, debuting a ‘new look’ as he’d modelled his own clothes on the runway. Marinette hadn’t given it a second thought, then. And even if she had, recognising him wouldn’t have changed a thing. He would still have been rude, and she would still have been clumsy. There really was no way out of it.

What sixteen-year-old Marinette wouldn’t have given to work with the legendary Adrien Agreste. What twenty-two-year-old Marinette wouldn’t have given to get out of working with him. But whatever she may think, she had to make it work.

She bit her lip and soundlessly left the room to prepare the set, leaving Juleka to stonewall Adrien into silence.

***

After convincing Nathanael that _no,_ they did not need flashing lights and pop-art accents, she stepped back to admire the backdrop he’d prepared. He really was very talented, and to put together something of such monumental proportions in one night was no easy feat. She made sure to vocalise her appreciation, making the shy man blush to the dyed roots of his hair.

The set really was beautiful, nearly filling up the entire room with its painted backdrop, a shallow pool brought in for the occasion, and, taking pride of place, the elaborately carved seashell ten interns from the nearby art school had slaved over all night. Painted pearly white, it refracted and reflected light, creating a dazzling array of colours like nothing Marinette had ever seen before. To build on the effect, the lighting technician was running a string of multicoloured fairy lights into the water, casting celestial, rippling shadows onto the large, painted screen. They had managed to appropriate the screen from a nearby gallery, which had recently finished an exhibition on Botticelli, and Nathanael had spent the night painstakingly painting over it with a fine brush, creating highlights and accents that almost made it glow. The combined effect of the lights, water and backdrop transported Marinette to Ancient Greece, and she could visualise Adrien, windblown and salt-sprayed, rising from the waves, just as his mother had done twenty years ago.

They were only going to capture a promotional image today, to launch a preliminary campaign. The video would follow, provided the image was satisfactory to the higher-ups at Agreste Corp. This was, in a way, Marinette’s first trial. She hoped that it wouldn’t be her last.

The models filed in, shrugging off their robes and donning their costumes. Marinette had painstakingly combed the roster for classically beautiful models, and she had chosen well. The two chosen to represent Zephyr and Aura had been chosen to complement each other, and as Marinette watched them interact, having a banal conversation about the weather, she felt that she could not have made a better decision. The man chosen as Zephyr, Khalil, was a minor league footballer who modelled on the side. He was powerfully built yet lithe, and possessed an easy, almost deadly grace that would come across beautifully in the video. His strong features and deep tan were offset by Aiko, who had soft curves and long, cotton-candy-pink hair that Marinette had coveted as she flipped through the roster. They draped themselves in their robes with a practiced ease as the costumer, Cherie, flitted about them anxiously, pinning the folds into place. She fastened the wings, heavy and iridescent, into place, adjusting them until they sat strikingly against Khalil’s back. They had, luckily, had a pair saved from a previous Valentine’s day campaign. All there was to do was paint them black. Khalil twisted, flexing his shoulders, his long hair curling against the wings, poised to almost take flight.

Yes, Marinette had chosen well. The swirls of paint painstakingly detailed on the models' bodies made them almost transcend reality, looking unearthly and ethereal in the soft lighting. As they stood, experimentally posed against the backdrop, Marinette could see her vision coming together. It was beautiful- everything she had dreamed it would be. She had certainly passed her trial, and with flying colours. Now all there was to do was to see how Adrien’s makeup had turned out.

But- not quite. Frowning, Marinette scanned the room. Where was the other model? She had hired Vadoma, a voluptuous, seasoned model with a Renaissance body that had made her the perfect choice for the Hora of Spring. The dress, a vintage Agreste piece more complex than the robes of Zephyr and Aura, had been hastily altered to her measurements by Marinette herself the night before. She needed to see Vadoma in it, see if there were any adjustments to make. Where was she?

As if in answer to Marinette’s thoughts, the door swung open and a woman sauntered in. She was tall, with long, straight hair cascading down her back, and distinctive, slanted green eyes. Marinette noted, a little unkindly, that she was newly well-endowed. Aside from the breasts, and, she noticed, the butt, Marinette recognised her immediately.

“What’re you doing here, Lila?” she asked, with perhaps a little more aggression than required in her tone. Lila only laughed.

“Oh, Mari, I almost didn’t recognise you,” she cooed, coming forward and enveloping Marinette in a hug. Her breasts all but suffocated the smaller girl. “You’ve changed so much since our school days!”

“Quite,” ground out Marinette, extricating herself from Lila’s grip and giving her a pointed look.

“Oh, right, silly me. You’ll want me to go to hair and makeup, right?” Lila raised a dark eyebrow with a little smirk, as if challenging Marinette to disagree.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s where us models need to get ready, right?” Flashing a condescending smile, showcasing deepdimples, Lila steadily maintained eye contact. Marinette was the one to look away.

“Are you here for another project, then?” she asked, a little desperately, the reason for Lila’s presence dawning on her. No- she couldn’t be here for…

“No, no, Marinette, I’m here for the Agreste project. Didn’t you know?” Tilting her head with mock concern, amusement twinkled in her sly brown eyes. “The other model, Vadoma, fell ill, so they called me in instead! Isn’t it _exciting,_ us getting to work together?” She stood, hand on one hip, and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Posing.

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose, and directed Lila to the make-up room. Somehow, her day had just gotten worse. She reassured herself with the thought that nothing else could possibly go wrong from here.

***

Marinette knew that the wide rip in the (vintage, very expensive) Hora of Spring dress was mendable, but the knowledge didn’t stop her frown spiralling into panic. Seeing her expression, Cherie hastily took the dress away, promising to mend it as quickly as she could.

“Oh, I’m _such_ a klutz,” Lila whined, waving an airy hand. “I should have put it on more carefully. I’m _so_ sorry! At least it’s fixable!”

“Yes,” said Marinette, gritting her teeth. She was seeing red, and, if possible, growing to loathe Lila even more. The self-proclaimed model was sprawled elegantly on the floor, one leg stretched in front of her. It seemed that she had tripped. She had barely hit the floor before she was surrounded by a flurry of concerned staff, from Nathanael to Khalil, all of whom were clamouring to place ice packs on various parts of her body and urging her to recline. Nathanael, flustered upon brushing his hand against her bare shoulder, had even proclaimed that he would rush her to the hospital. What a _coincidence_ that her leg had stopped hurting at just that moment! Lila was now being fervently reassured by both Nathanael and Khalil that it was no trouble at all, really, to mend the dress. She should just take it easy.

Unnoticed, Marinette made her way to the hallway, pausing at the door. “Give me a minute, I have to, er, get something.” Taking the lack of response as permission, Marinette left, whisking a soft shawl off a table as she went.

She did not have to get anything. She had to scream, and, from two months of experience, she knew the recording studio at the end of the hall was the best place to do it. It was soundproof, and largely unused, and had quickly become her favourite place in the building. And, even better, it had blackout screens on the windows. Nobody would be able to see her throw the biggest temper tantrum of the century.

She all but ran down the corridor, her heels catching in the thick pile of the carpet, until she reached the blessed door to the recording studio. Popping her head in to check that Nino, the freelance sound engineer, wasn’t inside, and being met with welcoming darkness, she slipped inside, kicking off her shoe and wedging it between the door and the doorframe. The room was unheated, and its chill laced its way into her bones, making her muscles seize up. Wrapping the shawl protectively around her, Marinette made her way into the recording booth, sat down on the stool, and tilted her head back to scream.

It was cathartic, to say the least, listening to her hoarse voice bounce off the walls. Wordless, animalistic sounds, absorbed by soundproofing insulation, disappeared as if she’d never opened her mouth, as if her feelings, frustration and pent-up rage had never existed. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck!”_ Marinette hollered, throwing her head back. “Fuck Miraculous!” she screeched, loving the way the words felt on the tip of her tongue. She repeated it once, twice, three times, her throat growing sore as she stopped, panting. But she wasn’t done. “Fuck Lila!” she howled, just to spice things up. She rested her voice for a moment, and prepared to start on a new round of curses, when a slow creak caught her attention.

Turning her eyes to the door, she saw someone- a man?- stick their head into the room through the partially-opened door, looking left and right before tentatively entering. Silent, Marinette watched the long silhouette- almost certainly that of a man- creep into the room, stooping to get through the door. It paused as it straightened, and then, decisively, turned around. Was it leaving? Marinette could only hope. But no- she could never be quite so lucky. Her heart dropped as she watched him, painstakingly, painfully slowly, kick her shoe aside to shut the door. 

Standing up, the shawl fluttering to the floor, she pounded her hand against the glass and did her best to put her voice to good use. “No! Don’t! It locks from the outside!” But the blessing of soundproofing turned to a curse as she stood, silenced, and heard the door click shut with an ominous finality.

_Now_ she was fucked.

Stalking out of the booth, shoulders squared, she turned her voice on the man who was surely too stupid to live. “What the hell, man?” she snapped, giving him a little push. He jumped, letting out a shout.

“The fuck? Who’s there?” His voice sounded familiar, and Marinette, asking herself the same question, moved away to run her hands along the wall, searching blindly for the light switch. Finally locating it and turning it on, she looked around to see none other than the secondary bane of her existence- the one and only Adrien Agreste.

“You absolute _moron,”_ Marinette hissed, closing the distance between them to poke angrily at his chest. Her finger came away tipped with white paint, and as she looked at him with diminishing irritation, she had to hold back her pleasure- he looked exactly as she’d envisioned. With his hair teased into gentle curls and his body painted with a pearly, angelic glow, she knew that he’d look perfect in the photograph.

“What did I do?” he asked petulantly, stepping back. At that, Marinette’s irritation returned.

“The door locks from the outside,” she said impatiently, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “You just locked us in.” She watched with vindictive satisfaction as the colour drained from his face, recognition visibly dawning on his face.

_“Merde,”_ he said.

***

They sat in silence for half an hour minutes, backs against the wall as they waited, hoping for a miracle. With bated breath they listened for the slightest sound on the other side of the door- when they heard the telling, tantalising footsteps of someone approaching, they’d fling themselves at the door and hammer it with their fists, shouting themselves hoarse. After the third failed attempt, they’d remained seated, choosing to preserve their dignity and the use of their hands.

Finally, Adrien groaned and slid down the wall, lying flat on his back. Wearing nothing but a pair of skin-coloured briefs, he was beginning to shiver. “It’s cold,” he commented, casting a dispassionate eye over his goosebump-covered arms.

“There’s no heating in the studio. Apparently it’s good for the vocal cords,” replied Marinette, who was hugging her knees to her chest, shivering, and mentally cursing his name. Damned Adrien and his damned penchant for shutting doors. Marinette ran through some mental calculations. The rip in the Hora dress was no small matter- it would take Cherie at least two hours to mend. Until then, the shoot wouldn’t be anywhere near readiness and nobody would think to look for her. Adrien’s manager had left, presumably, after handling the paperwork, so nobody would be looking for him, either. There was no guaranteeing anybody would realise either of them were missing until the dress was repaired. Marinette gave it half an hour after the repairs for them to think to look for her, and another half an hour before they found her. And that was being optimistic. So, her best guess was another two-and-a-half hours stuck in the recording school with Adrien. Motherfucking Adrien. Really, he’d brought her nothing but bad luck since meeting him. She rued the day of his birth.

As if Adrien could read her mind, he sat up and gave her an apologetic smile. “Look,” he said, his voice softer, less arrogant somehow, “I’m sorry about this. It must be terribly inconvenient for you.”

Marinette bit her lip and pushed down her irritation. “It’s not just _inconvenient,”_ she said with a bitter laugh, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s my job on the line. This campaign- it’s my last chance. And everything’s going wrong, and now I’m locked in here for God knows how long! I’m as good as fired. But, er, sorry, that’s not really your problem.”

“Look, I’ll explain what happened, okay? They can’t blame you for this, and they can’t really fire me. It’ll be okay!” Adrien said brightly, sitting up. “It’s my fault we’re locked in here, after all.”

“I wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place!” groaned Marinette, resting her head in her hands. “I should be on set right now.”

“Me too.” Adrien considered her for a moment, and then asked: “Wait, why _were_ you here, then?”

Blushing slightly, Marinette bit her lip before answering. “I, er, had to let out some frustrations,” she hedged, not quite comfortable enough to divulge her real intentions. She shrugged, hoping Adrien wouldn’t press the point.

To her surprise, though, Adrien coloured, flushing pink under the layers of paint. “R-right in the office?” he stuttered, not meeting her eyes. “I mean, I’m not one to judge, but, uh…” He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a little…” His entire neck turned red, the colour spreading to the tips of his ears. His voice dropping low, he choked out: “Freaky.”

“What? No!” gasped Marinette, torn between outrage and embarrassment. “That wasn’t what I- I wasn’t- what did you- what were _you_ coming here for?” she challenged, on the defensive.

If it was even possible, Adrien turned an even brighter shade of red. “That’s none of your business!”

“Fine! What I was doing was none of _your_ business!”  
“Fine!” They turned away from each other slightly, angling their shoulders in opposite directions. Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette could see Adrien pushing out his lower lip into a slight pout. How could she have ever thought he was conniving?

There were a few moments of awkward silence, in which Marinette ran through the last day’s events in her mind. Sure, he’d been rude, but she had, after all, knocked him to the ground and ruined his coat. And in the elevator- had he been trying to be friendly? She sighed, and turned towards him. “Look, I come here sometimes, when things get tough at work, to just, er…” She trailed off, before clenching a fist and continuing. “To scream. And, sometimes, throw things.”

“What?”

“It’s a very stressful job,” hissed Marinette, crossing her arms. “There, now I’ve said it. That’s what I was doing here.”

Adrien considered her for a moment, before ducking his head and mumbling something unintelligible. 

Marinette furrowed her brow. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I wanted a snack, okay?” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled loudly. “It’s not easy, you know, being a model. My diet is calculated down to the calorie, and sometimes you just want a chocolate bar!” 

“What?”

Tossing his head impatiently, Adrien got to his feet and walked to the side of the room, drawing back a curtain to reveal a small bag, which he picked up and clutched to his chest. “I hid this here before I got in this morning.” He walked back to the door and sat down, unzipping the bag. “Want some gummy bears?”

“We’re going to be stuck here for hours. I absolutely want some gummy bears.” 

Adrien made to pass a packet over, but withheld it at the last moment. “Wait. So you forgive me for the door thing?”

“As long as you forgive me for the coat thing,” replied Marinette. 

Adrien nodded, satisfied. “Fantastic. I’ll throw in a Mars Bar, too.” 

Marinette received the sweets gratefully. She’d been so nervous in the morning that she’d barely touched her breakfast, and had been dreading the hungry hours stretching ahead. They’d likely spend the lunch break locked in the room, and not at the cafeteria downstairs. It was pizza day, Marinette remembered mournfully.

Adrien popped a handful of gummy bears into his mouth, chewed, and sighed. “Oh, man. They almost warm me right up.”

Marinette started, guiltily, and looked over. Adrien, under the pastel paint, was pale, and his fingertips were blue. “Crap. Of course you’re cold. Hold on.” She got up and hurried to the recording booth, retrieving the shawl from the floor and pulling a heavy cloth off the recording equipment. The material was thick and woolly, and would hopefully keep Adrien warm.

She reached the door and tossed him the shawl and the cloth, returning to her seat by the door. “Here. Sorry I didn’t think of this earlier. You must be freezing!” The way Adrien immediately swaddled himself in the fabric, layering the cloth over the shawl, brought on another surge of guilt, and a shiver of her own. Her thin blouse did very little to keep her warm, and she was regretting having left her coat at her desk.

Noticing the way Marinette wrapped her arms around herself, Adrien frowned. “You’re cold too? Come over here.” With that, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, draping the cloth around her shoulders. A surge of warmth rose from Marinette’s chest to her cheeks, prickling, and as awkward as it was to be pressed up against Adrien’s side, she couldn’t deny that it was the logical thing to do. “That better?” Adrien asked with a crooked smile. 

“Yeah,” Marinette mumbled, pulling the cloth tighter around her and snuggling down, doing her best to get comfortable. It would be a while before anyone found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goodbye, douchey adrien!!! we're gonna learn a little more about why he was so douchey next chapter!!!
> 
> ALSO- thank you guys so much for the response to this!! I'm planning on making it around thirty chapters long, with updates every week or so.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic y'all sorry if its a little shit


End file.
